"Is there no one in the house who can sit in the chamber and attend to
his occasional wants?" asked Dr. Townsend. "He will need to take his
medicine at stated periods, and some one will be required to administer
it."

"There's Aunt Lucy Lee," said Mrs. Mudge, "she's taken a fancy to the
boy, and I reckon she'll do as well as anybody."

"No one better," returned the doctor, who well knew Aunt Lucy's kindness
of disposition, and was satisfied that she would take all possible care
of his patient.

So it was arranged that Aunt Lucy should take her place at Paul's
bedside as his nurse.

Paul was sick for many days,--not dangerously so, but hard work and
scanty fare had weakened him to such a degree that exhausted nature
required time to recruit its wasted forces. But he was not unhappy or
restless. Hour after hour he would lie patiently, and listen to the
clicking of her knitting needles. Though not provided with luxurious
food, Dr. Townsend had spoken with so much plainness that Mrs. Mudge
felt compelled to modify her treatment, lest, through his influence, she
with her husband, might lose their situation. This forced forbearance,
however, was far from warming her heart towards its object. Mrs.
Mudge was a hard, practical woman, and her heart was so encrusted with
worldliness and self-interest that she might as well have been without
one.

One day, as Paul lay quietly gazing at Aunt Lucy's benevolent face,
and mentally contrasting it with that of Mrs. Mudge, whose shrill voice